Page 206 of Twisted Trails
I snort and roll my eyes. “I likeCrews,thank you very much.”
Finn chuckles from behind me, and I glance over just as he lifts his shoulder with a lazy smile. “I’ll take your name, no problem. You know I always wanted to be a Crews.”
Something in my chest softens as I look at the three of them, this beautiful mess of a life, and the absurdity of that conversation suddenly hits me. They’re arguing over my last name like it means something or could even capture what we are to each other.
I shake my head, grinning as I stretch my legs across Mason’s lap. “You guys are cute, but I don’t want us to be married.”
Luc gasps like I’ve stabbed him. “Petite!”
I roll my eyes at the dramatics but reach instinctively for the leather band on my wrist. My fingers find the familiar shape of the metal link tucked into the braided cord, a piece ofMason’s chain, salvaged from the day everything snapped and somehow,miraculously,held.
I’d made one for all four of us, each with a single link of that broken chain woven in.
Finn wears his with the same quiet loyalty he always carries, Luc flashes his every chance he gets, and Mason keeps his tucked under his sleeve, but I’ve seen him turn it over in his fingers when he thinks no one is watching.
A chain that broke, snapped under pressure, the pieces woven into something new. A quiet promise and proof that broken things don’t stay broken when theychooseto hold.
“We’re a team,” I murmur, looking up at Mason, who smiles softly at me. “And that feels better than marriage ever could.”
I remember the soul-crushing panic when I’d thought something had happened to Mason’s bike that day four months ago, holding my breath as I waited for his bike to snap in two like mine had because of Isla’s sabotage. But then Finn pointed out that it was the chain, and we got to watch in awe at how Mason handled the setback.
Like a world-class pro.
Thinking of Isla doesn’t fill me with the same rage it used to. Not even close.
She and her brother came clean, and they did self-report everything to the authorities, as they promised. They took the consequences too—heavy fines, court-mandated apologies, financial compensation, and a fat slab of probation. Isla was lucky to avoid formal charges and jail time, mostly because she was a minor when it all happened, but also because I told Dad’s lawyers not to push it too hard.
She’s a bitch, and she deserves everything she got, but I’m not cruel enough to wish a life in prison on her, even for attempted murder. That was never the point. I neverwanted bars for them, I wanted exposure. Humiliation. And that? She got in spades.
Isaac called me a few weeks ago to apologize in person. I almost didn’t pick up, but I did, and we talked for over an hour.
He told me that on the day I crashed, he found Isla crouched next to my bike. He went over to see what she was doing, but she walked off and claimed she hadn’t touched anything. He tried to check, and that’s probably what I saw. But when nothing looked obviously wrong, and he started worrying about being seen nearmysetup, he shrugged it off.
When I crashed, heknewit was because of her, but he stayed quiet. He was scared of what would happen to her if he told somebody what he knew. He thought that with us leaving the circuit, he could just turn a blind eye and forget about it. But then he found out just how far Isla had gone with Mason, plus lying to him about Luc, and he could no longer carry the guilt that had already eaten at him for years. Even when she told him that most of it was because she thought she was helpinghim.
He works as a health coach now, and Isla is back home with their family, going to therapy. I told him that if he ever came back to the circuit, I’d be okay with it. I don’t think I’d be fine if Isla did, but he wasn’t the bad guy, even if he’s a fucking dick.
He just got caught in the wreckage of whatshedid, and I understand that kind of devotion between siblings. How far you’ll go to protect them and how it can become toxic too.
I can forgive Isaac for loving his sister, and I can forgive her too. Not for her sake, but for mine. To finally unclench my fists and let go of the wreckage I’ve been white-knuckling for years. To carve out enough space in my chest to dream again.
Enough space forhope.
Even if the UCI never lets me race again,fuck it. They can’t stop me from working. Jim already told me he was fine with me being the second mechanic on the team, saying he’ll train me some more when he visits in a few weeks. He’s staying with Élise right now—something about helping her repair her car—but he swore he’d carve out time for the team once things “settled.” Whatever that means.
I’ll learn it all, one bolt, one brake bleed, one busted derailleur at a time, and when I’m strong enough, I’ll get back on the bike too. Not to race or to win, but toride.
There’s a knock on the door, and Luc snorts. “Isn’t it still the holidays? Who the fuck’s knocking now?”
Mason shakes his head. “It’s January seventh. Normal people started working days ago.”
Luc scoffs. “Normal people. Since when do you hang out with normal people? Who the hell comes up here in the middle of winter, through all this snow?”
“Guess I’ll get it if no one else will.” Finn sighs, already heading toward the door.
I hear low murmurs, two voices, maybe more, before Finn comes back in, looking a little surprised. “We’ve got guests.”
“Who?” I ask because Luc is right, we don’t exactly have friends outside our small circle.
